Vena Amoris
by Traveler's Chick
Summary: A young Eva Dex overhears a late-night fight between her parents. [Ronon Dex, OC] Rated T for language. One shot. Goes from angst to fluff so fast, you might get whiplash.


_A/N: Hello! For those of you that have read other fics by me, you know by now that I have two OCs named Emma Rogers and Eva Dex. You can find Emma in all of my fics, but Eva (so far) only appears in Tempus Fugit, which is my current WIP. _

_I'm a little blocked right now with Tempus Fugit, and as I was going back on what I had already written for inspiration, this little scene popped up. Originally, I was going to include it as a flashback in TF (which is why it's framed from Eva's perspective), but it no longer fits with the overall narrative of that work. SO, I decided to post it as a one shot, instead. (My first one shot! Hooray!)_

_If you are also reading Tempus Fugit, don't worry - I haven't abandoned it - I'm just trying a few different things for the next chapter. In the meantime, I hope this little one shot will suffice._

_Content Warning: Angry arguing and needles._

_Hope you enjoy! If you do, let me know. :)_

* * *

The sound of angry voices woke her up and within seconds Eva realized her parents were fighting. Disputes like this were a rarity in their household, but when they did happen, they were always loud and intense; and this time didn't appear to be any exception.

The deep baritone of her father's voice reverberated against the walls of their quarters, interrupted by shorter bursts of her mother's voice above his, and though she strained her ears to listen, she couldn't make out exactly what they were saying. And so, as curiosity defeated her sleepiness, she pushed her bedclothes to the side, got to her feet, and leaned against her doorframe to eavesdrop.

"Why won't you wear it?" her mother shouted.

"We've been over this a hundred times, Emma."

"And you keep giving me excuses. I want you to tell me the real reason you don't wear your wedding ring!"

"I'm not giving you excuses! It's what I've told you before. It gets in the way – fighting, hunting, shooting – I can't risk a hand injury just for some weird Earth custom."

"Well that _weird_ Earth custom happens to be important to me! You know that! I wear mine." She lifted her left hand into the air as proof. "Every damn day for the past eight years."

By this point, Eva had tiptoed out of her bedroom and was watching their argument from behind the wall that separated the hallway from the living room.

"But you work in a lab all day! You're not off world going hand-to-hand with Wraith soldiers while –"

"I wear it every day to show people that I'm yours! That you are my husband and I am your wife."

He stared back at her.

"Are you not…" her eyes volleyed side to side as she searched for the right word, "_proud_ of what we have, of what we work for? Are you em-embarrassed or ashamed to admit you're married? That you're married to me?"

"Ashamed?" Eva wasn't sure which emotion on her father's face looked stronger – anger or surprise. "Why the hell would I be –"

"Don't think I don't notice how women look at you, Ronon." Her features darkened and settled into an expression Eva had never seen on her face before. When next she spoke, her voice was eerily calm. "I bet it feels good, doesn't it? That women other than your wife, younger than your wife, more exciting than your wife want you."

"Stop it, Emma," he snarled.

She took a step closer to him. "Like that girl in the gym the other day or the one who found you in the commissary or that new nurse who had to patch you up. Is it fun for you? Is it fun to pretend? That if you're not wearing your ring then just for a moment you can indulge them, let them believe –"

"I told you to stop it!" he bellowed.

She snapped her mouth shut.

Ronon barged past her and grabbed a tall bottle of clear alcohol from the highest cabinet in the kitchen. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, spat it onto the counter, and took a long swig from the bottle.

Realizing he was headed toward the hallway, Eva raced back into her bedroom and flattened herself against the interior wall, still listening. Her father's shadow darkened the threshold for a brief instant as he stomped toward the master bedroom, but her mother didn't follow.

"So this is your solution?" Emma called from the living room, the thick sound of tears gumming up her voice. "Drink the problem away and ignore me?"

"Bring me a bowl," she heard him beckon.

"Get your own fucking bowl."

He re-emerged from their bedroom, headed straight for the kitchen again, grabbed a small bowl in one hand and Emma's forearm in the other.

"Let go," she hissed.

Ronon released her from his grasp, rounded on her and glared down into her face. "I am not ashamed of you." His voice was hardly above a whisper, but it shook with barely-controlled rage. "You are my wife, the mother of my child, the greatest love of my life, and no one compares to you. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank the Ancestors for bringing you here, for bringing you to me."

Emma had no response for him. She stood in the middle of the hallway, completely silent, chest heaving.

He touched her arm again, this time more softly. "Come into our bedroom…please." With that, he turned his back to her and soon disappeared into their room.

After a moment of thought, Emma wiped at her eye with the back of her hand and followed. Once she was sure they were both out of the hallway, Eva slid out of her bedroom again and spied on them from the edge of their doorway.

"Sit," Ronon instructed, motioning to the edge of the bed.

Emma placed her hands on her hips in open defiance.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and released it. "Please take a seat," he said, more careful of his wording.

She obliged.

He went to get a small towel from the bathroom, and when he returned, pulled something out of the drawer of his nightstand and lit a candle.

As he busied himself with these strange preparations, Emma looked curiously in the direction of the liquor bottle.

Glancing up at her, he followed her gaze and passed her the bottle. "Have some," he suggested as he pulled a small needle from the little container that had come from the drawer.

A bit dubiously, she took a sip directly from the bottle, which immediately made her cough. "That is straight up moonshine, Ronon."

He took it back from her, tipped the open top onto the towel, and used it to cleanse the skin on his left ring finger. The smell of the alcohol wafted toward Eva and stung the inside of her nostrils. Next, he handed Emma a pen, knelt at her feet, and rested his left hand in her lap. "Write your initials," he ordered.

"What?"

"Do it. Right along my finger. EJR."

Emma looked from his hand to his eyes, then uncapped the pen and carefully wrote out the three letters.

Ronon took the pen back from her, yanked the top off of it and dumped the thick black ink into the bowl. He then lifted the solitary needle and heated it over the candle until it glowed orange. After waiting for it to cool, he wrapped a short length of thread around the shaft. As he gave the needle to Emma, comprehension quickly dawned on her face.

"Dip it," he glanced over to the ink bowl, "then poke."

"You can't be serious," she breathed. "Is this ink even safe to use in your skin?"

Ronon picked up the empty pen and squinted as he read the fine print. "Non-toxic," he read before setting it aside. "Good enough for me."

"Ronon—" She made moves to stand up, but he seized her by the hips and guided her back onto the edge of the bed.

"Do it," he whispered, brushing his lips against the smooth band of gold on her finger.

There was a moment of hesitation before she took his large hand in her own and braced it against her thigh. "What do I do?"

"Dip the needle in the ink – make sure the thread gets wet – then make little pokes along the lines of the letters."

She nodded, turned toward the small bowl of ink and dunked her tool into it. She brought the needle to his skin, but paused. "How hard do I do it?"

"Till you hear a quiet pop."

"A pop?" Her face had gone a few shades paler.

He nodded.

Inching toward him, she bent over his hand and let out a tiny squeal as she made the first prick. She looked up into his face to gauge his reaction, but all he did was smile at her. She gave him a tentative smile in return, glanced down again, and let out a quiet gasp. "You're bleeding." Her eyes then shifted to her own trembling hands. "And I'm shaking."

He reached backward and passed her the towel, which she placed atop her leg and under his hand, dabbing gently at the small beads of blood. When she looked back up at him, he was already offering her the bottle of liquor. Smiling in spite of herself, she accepted it and took a long drink. This time, she didn't cough.

Eva watched as her mother returned to her task, concentrating every bit of her energy on staying between the lines, while her father, unflinching, fixed her with a gaze as tender as it was intense.

After about a minute, Emma leaned back, inhaled a breath that rattled her chest and shook the nervous tension from her hands. "That's all I can do," she said. "I can't do the other two letters. You're bleeding and I'm getting lightheaded and I –"

He took the needle from her hand and set it on the nightstand. From where he knelt, he reached up and ran a hand through her hair as he looked into her eyes. "I'm yours, Emma."

A small nod was all she could manage in way of a reply and she swallowed hard, trying to fight back tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry for what I said."

"Me too."

Tears flowed from her eyes in a wellspring of relief. She gathered his head to her chest, tightly wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders.

"Your heart is racing," he muttered into her breast as he returned the embrace, encircling her hips and lower back.

They pulled slightly apart and she took his left hand in hers once more to inspect her handiwork.

"_Vena amoris_."

He furrowed his brow, clearly not understanding the words she had spoken.

"Vein of love," she translated. "The Romans believed that the vein that runs through this finger was the most direct path to the heart." She lightly massaging his knuckle, admiring his hand. "That's where the custom originated." Her eyes fluttered up to meet his. "Thank you."

Ronon rose slightly to bring his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss before standing to his full height. Hand still holding onto his, she gave him a quizzical look for his abrupt change in posture. He soon dropped her hand, slipped his shirt over his head, and tossed it to the floor before saying anything.

"Get in the bed."

Suddenly realizing she had been spying for too long, Eva bolted back to her bedroom, jumped under the covers and buried her head under her pillow. From across the hallway, she heard the hiss of her parents' bedroom door shutting and then nothing more.


End file.
